


Crick Crack

by CrowsandCooks



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Creepy, Dark, Dark Beings, Gen, Horror, dark entities, just a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:08:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7999750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowsandCooks/pseuds/CrowsandCooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And like a stray shown affection, Dolly followed her home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crick Crack

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write horror. 
> 
>  
> 
> I want to write more horror but proper horror if that makes sense

**_Crick_ **

 

Sally stopped.

 

**_Crack_ **

 

People continued to walk past her, undeterred by the new obstacle in their path. Pushing past her in their heavy coats, rushing to reach their warm homes. The streets of London nipped at their heels and the cold licked at their faces.

 

**_Crick_ **

 

The sound became louder.

 

**_Crack_ **

 

It was still behind her. The sickening wet sound of bones snapping. But the herd around her moved with ease, no concern or hesitation. Sally sighed and dug in her pockets, she took out a little orange container.

 

**_Crick_ **

 

It was empty.

 

**_Crack_ **

 

She frowned at it, her mind clearer than it had been in a long time. She rubbed her face, the loose coils of brown hair shook with her head. “I made my choices” she muttered. “didn’t drop a clanger”

 

**_Crick_ **

 

She sighed again and shoved it back into her pocket.

 

**_Crack_ **

 

She turned and faced the thing behind her.

 

Grey skin stretched taut over bones, long thin limbs bent in a way they truly ought not to be. The joints of its knees and elbows were bloody and torn, bone peeking out, as it raised itself up on them. It took a step, a hard **crick** as the bone hit the concrete. It fell, the limb snapped like a dry stick and the mask that covered the top half of its face hit the ground with a **crack**.

 

Sally stared.

 

It lifted its head as the limb healed, the faded eyes crudely painted looked at her. Its mouth was large, so large the corners of its lips were hidden by the half-mask as it twisted its mouth into a smile. Teeth of needles, fine, many and black, greeted her.

 

_Do not name it._

 

_Do not name it._

 

But her mouth opened and Sally spoke,

 

 “Dolly.”

 

The creature froze and Sally ran.

 

xxx

 

Sally did not cry but she locked the door behind her.  She flung her coat and scarf on the couch.

 

Her flat was small, her kitchen and living room shared the same space. She flicked all the lights on, opening her bathroom and her bedroom door. The only door she did not open was the door next to her bedroom. The coat closet with the heavily decorated door that seemed so out of place in comparison to the other doors in the flat.

 

She stared at her closet door and sat on the couch. “I should not have named it” she mumbled, her fingers playing with the charm around her neck.  But she did.

 

**_Crick_ **

 

She jumped.

 

**_Crack_ **

 

So now Dolly could see.

 

**_Crick_ **

 

She curled into herself, bringing her knees to her chest.

 

**_Cr_ ack**

 

Now Dolly could hear.

 

**_Crick_ **

 

Ice down her spine, the image of teeth made of needles in her mind.

 

**_Crack_ **

 

Now Dolly could smell.

 

**_Crick_ **

 

Sally looked up. It grinned, like a pleased cat, on her ceiling and moved forward.

 

**_Crack_ **

 

 And now Dolly knew Sally quite well. She opened her mouth and closed it. Air escaping from her throat.

 

And like a stray shown affection, Dolly followed her home.

 

It opened its mouth, wide and inhuman, a voice that grated at her ears like a car driving with the brakes on,

 

> **“just a nibble?”**

 

Her mother’s voice in her ear, “ _Never trust anything that does not introduce itself first_ ”

 

She did not answer either of them.

 

“Cannot touch”, she recited, under her breath, pulling the charm. “Cannot touch”

 

But it would not leave.

 

It would not leave until it got what it came for.

 

It would follow her and beg. It would follow her and plead.  It would follow her and whisper.

 

It would become a voice in her head, echoing in her ears and scratching inside her mind until she gave in.

 

And if she did, it would not be just a nibble.

 

It pounced on the couch. Sally rolled off and hit the ground. She scuttled back like a frightened crab. Her back hit the door, the door of her closet. Dolly looked at her, tilting its head in curiosity.

 

>   **“just a nibble?”**  

 

Sally exhaled and placed her hand on the knob of the door.

 

“No.”

 

She flung it open.

 

Dolly did not move, it peered at the nothingness that greeted its painted gaze. Dolly screeched at the nothingness in the closet.

 

The nothingness responded.

 

A black inky tendril shot from the closet, piercing Dolly in the middle of its mask. Dolly screeched in agony as another tendril wrapped around its neck. Dolly thrashed and the tendril pulled, yanking Dolly to the ground and dragging it into the closet.

 

Sally shut the door. She wiped the sweat of her face and stood.

 

Sally went to the stove and put the kettle. She lit the stove, the sound of bones crunching and snapping between teeth in the background.  The screeching became weaker and weaker. She took out a tea set, the one her father often told her to only use for if the Queen **ever** came to visit.

 

This was close enough.

 

Sally went in her bed room and took up a large red sweater. She put it on the kitchen chair. Sally took out a glass bottle of deep red liquid out of the fridge. She placed it next to a bowl on the kitchen table.

 

The crunching stopped and the kettle whistled.

 

She poured the water in the tea pot and poured the water in the bowl. She eyed the 'tea party' she just arranged and sighed, "This is my life" and placed the bottle in the bowl.

 

The first one came to Sally when she was ten, with her mouth full of braces and her mind not quite understanding fear. Her parents often told her things like this would happen. They didn't say why, it just did. But nothing they  **said** could compare to the actual thing. 

 

> _**“H-hello…please! P-please don’t be frightened! I’m Molly”** _

 

The second one came when she was thirteen. She wasn't frightened, Molly was so mousy (and sweet). She thought this one would be just as sweet.

 

> **“ _You’re a boring one, aren’t you? Sherlock. That’s my name”_**  

 

Foolish, looking back at it now.

 

Sally poured herself a cup of tea. Sherlock was an arse but he grew on her, like mold or one of those flesh eating bacteria.

 

The third one came to her when she was eighteen, by that time she was too used to it. Too used to mumbling voices no one else could hear, too used to things with too many eyes and too many teeth. Those greedy things that only few could see.

 

> **“ _Aren’t you a cute little thing? My name is Irene, what’s yours?”_**

 

 She sipped her tea and chewed on a biscuit. Irene was probably the most fun, like an older sister, flirty and clever. They all taught Sally many things. But the things Irene taught her were the most dark and cruel.

 

The fourth came when she was twenty-two, and like his predecessors, asked for the same thing.

 

> “ ** _Just a sip?”_**

 

But that was two years ago and he was still here. The others did not stay as long, the most was a year. Two years is a long time, long enough for her to know his habits and long enough to know how he liked her blood.

 

The closet door opened and a mass of tendrils, a shiny inky black like an oil spill coming to life, slithered out of it. The tendrils wrapped into themselves, shifting and changing like a chameleon from black to something more _human_ , creating the solid illusion of a man. He shivered, she tossed him the oversized sweater. He put it on and sat across from her, pouring the red liquid into the tea cup in front of him. He sipped it and they stayed like that. Drinking tea in silence, their minds on different things.

 

>    **“I take it I’m forgiven?”**  

 

His voice still rough with inhumanity. She poured herself another cup.

 

“I overreacted” she answered. A pill a day to make the voices go away. She lasted three weeks. “So I brought a treat to make up”

 

>   **“That was all bones”**

 

Sally snorted, “Ungrateful as always, Jim”.

 

He threw his head back and laughed. She glimpsed the inky tendrils in the back of his throat, dancing in mirth.

 

Sally smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> It can be slash if you squint. A domestic squabble between a girl and her what may or may not be an interdimensional dark entity boyfriend.


End file.
